


Coming Home Through the Dark to You

by LadyLondonderry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Fluff, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 02:59:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11546082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLondonderry/pseuds/LadyLondonderry
Summary: Harry Styles works at the Fox in the Snow, the most hipster coffee joint around. He's got too many roommates and a best friend he met his first day of university who he might very well be head-over-heels for.





	Coming Home Through the Dark to You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [haloeverlasting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/haloeverlasting/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY BRITTANY THIS IS FOR YOU  
> It's even set in winter. Which is hard to write when it's 90 degrees
> 
> This fic was written as part of an ongoing challenge. We each select random numbers and are given a specific emotion from the book 1000 Feelings For Which There Are No Names. To read the other fics written in this challenge, [click here](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/ShortFic_Challenge_For_Which_There_Is_No_Name/works), or you can find the masterpost on tumblr [here](http://lululawrence.tumblr.com/post/159679804243/1000-feelings-for-which-there-are-no-names-prompt).
> 
> My feeling for this week was 907; The uncertainty of whether you dreamed that or actually experienced it.

The thing about working at Fox in the Snow, is that the coffee shop itself is absolutely beautiful, practically a hipster photographer’s dream, and the sweets are delicious, made by hand, and the music is _ pretty good _ as far as hipster coffee shop music goes…

But it’s a horrible place to work if you want to listen in on conversations.

Harry, for the most part, loves his job. He loves the smell of coffee beans, and the art of managing six pour-overs at once. He loves the aroma of fresh baked pastries that get delivered every morning from the locally-owned bakery down the street. He loves the ever-changing paintings on the wall, each one incredibly original with a small price tag next to them (because they all belong to students from the art college a few miles over).

What he doesn’t love is the fact that every morning a certain feathery-haired, blue-eyed, lithe, lovely,  _ perfect human _ sits at a table directly across from his counter and Harry can  _ never _ hear what he’s saying.

The coffee grinder is constantly grinding, the pour-overs are dripping, the furnace is rumbling, the cold case is humming, and there’s such a litany of other voices conversing, taking orders, laughing, and so on that  _ goddamn it Harry can never hear a thing. _

Sure, said perfect human is sitting with a group of, on average, three to five other people and sure, their conversation generally revolves around  _ studying _ because they’re a  _ study group, _ but still! Harry often finds himself preoccupied. Lost in his thoughts. Gazing over at perfect cheekbones and a bit of scruff and eyelashes that should be in art museums… 

“Harry! Hello! If you don’t focus on me in the next two seconds-”

Harry snaps out of his daydreaming, the subject of those thoughts standing directly in front of him with an empty coffee cup.

“Shit, sorry Louis!” Harry says, jumping to take the cup from him. “Another tea?”

“Make it coffee this time,” Louis says. “Half-and-half, if you have any? And whipped cream!”

“Nobody puts whipped cream on coffee,” Harry says, putting out a fresh cup and stacking a pour-over on top of it. “We’ve got half-and-half. I’ll see what I can do.”

Louis gives Harry that smile that makes the crinkles by his eyes show. Harry almost trips. 

“Thanks Haz! I’ll be back to get it, just gotta finish this practice test.”

And then he’s gone. Back to the table, and just out of range. 

Sometimes it’s really unfortunate, being in love with your best friend.

— 

The Fox in the Snow is a really weird place to work in the summer, because the big mural of a fox jumping in snow drifts on the side of the building seems really out of place (and rather mocking) when it’s hot enough to actually consider buying one of those kitschy mini-fans that attaches to your phone.

That being said, at times like this near the end of the year when the temperature drops while the sun set and Harry comes out to the dimly lit street and shivers into his homemade cable-knit scarf (he has to look the part to work in a hipster place like this), he really longs for a bit of that summer heat.

The fox on the side of the building seems to mock him, as the only light dusting of snow so far barely even touched the ground earlier in the week before disappearing. The  _ least _ this horrible winter weather could leave him is a bit of  _ snow _ to lighten the mood.

The reason Harry applied for the barista position in the first place was because his home is within walking distance; a half hour walk that’s pleasant in the spring, sweltering in the summer and by the time winter rolls around it’s either scenic or frostbittenly dreadful. 

It’s not the safest neighbourhood after dark, so Harry doesn’t put in his headphones but he does pull out his phone and browse through Instagram as he walks, thinking about the dinner possibilities he can fix for himself when he gets home. The wind whistles through the trees and bites at what’s exposed of his cheeks above the mustardseed coloured scarf, and the streets seem uncharacteristically silent for how busy a neighbourhood it is during the day.

When he eventually makes it to his own street, the windows of his flat are bright and cheerful, beckoning him with the promise of warmth and food. Maybe he’ll make jambalaya. Or a nice basil pesto pasta. 

Fumbling with his keys as he hops up the steps, he’s greeted by Batcat, who gives him a dismissive tail flick and then circles the the doorway impatiently, waiting for him to let her into the house and feed her. She’s got a home, he knows, but Niall has lured her into their house with his leftovers so many times that there’s no use trying to keep her out now.

He wrenches the door open. Batcat runs inside. The house smells like burning food. There are voices with thick Irish accents yelling. The fire alarms are going off. 

Batcat runs back outside.

Harry sighs and shuts the door behind him.

— 

Apparently Niall has burnt the chicken.

_ Which _ Niall burnt the chicken, now that’s an entirely different question that Harry isn’t sure he’s ever going to have the answer to. Niall Horan, his dear (soon to be dearly-departed if he doesn’t shut up) roommate is apparently having another one of his get-togethers to watch the Derby County game, which means of course that Niall Breslin (also known as  _ the other Niall) _ is over, and according to all the yelling  _ one of them _ has burnt the chicken but since Ed, Andy and Liam have been sort of just yelling on general principle, it’s been hard to get a clear picture of what’s gone on.

He’s pretty sure he can smell Zayn stress-smoking upstairs but that’s a conversation for another time.

Because the fire alarms are still going off.

“You know I think the fire brigade is called if those keep going off,” Ed says conversationally (not that Harry can locate him) as Niall yells about  _ another meal ruined _ and Niall yells about  _ you never even seasoned it _ and Andy yells about  _ what channel is it even on _ and Liam yells about _ has anyone turned the oven off _ and Harry wonders how any of these boys have made it into adulthood.

He crosses the living room (Andy fiddling with the television) and walks by the hallway (smoke alarms and the smell of cigarettes) and enters the kitchen (bright red tile and billowing smoke), and finds the source of the problem; the oven, still emitting a fair amount of black smoke from where someone’s left the door slightly open.

He turns the oven off.

“Hi Harry!” Niall says from the the refrigerator, where he is most likely looking for someone else’s chicken to ‘borrow’. “How was work?”

“H’lo Harry!” Niall says from where he’s propped himself up against the back door, mouth full of ice cream judging by the tub in his lap. “Ho’ w’s work?”

“You’re all a mess,” Harry tells them all. He closes the door to the oven and waits for the chicken embers to put themselves out. “My room is going to smell like burnt chicken and nicotine now. Do you know how many air fresheners I had to buy after the last time one of you did this?”

“It was his fault last time,” Niall says, pointing to Niall.

“Was not.”

Harry walks out of the room.

He grabs a piece of cardboard out of the recycling bin in the hallway and starts flapping it at the nearest smoke alarm. He can faintly hear the sound of the shower running upstairs - so Nick is home - and the sound of crowds cheering is now coming from the living room, so Andy must have found the correct channel. Liam and Ed are still yelling from  _ somewhere _ which means they’re probably in the basement now - a bit of a hellhole, but there’s a refrigerator down there so they’re probably grabbing beer.

Everything here is a mess and Harry’s shoulders are getting tired from trying to put out the smoke alarm and he’s fairly sure he’s not going to get one moment of peace this evening with this particular crowd. So much for basil pesto pasta… 

He should probably make seven layer dip instead.

The fire alarm quiets itself just as someone pounds at the front door and Harry wonders if his work will ever be done. He puts down the cardboard and walks out through the living room again (Andy is on his phone, his head resting against the staticky television screen), through the front room (the room where everyone dumps their shit when they get home from work and class and then forget about it) and opens the front door.

“Oh thank fuck,” Harry says. “Andrew please save them.”

Andrew hands Harry the three pizza boxes he had been carrying and steps through the doorway, shucking off the heavy peacoat he was wearing and letting it land on the ground where so many other coats have already been left.

“Smells like a party in here,” he says, taking back the boxes.

“Smells like hot fresh disaster,” Harry corrects, following back through to the kitchen.

“Andrew!” Niall greets.

“Hozier!” Niall greets.

“There’s a total of three people who call me by my last name and two of them are my professors,” Andrew says. “You’re a special exception.”

_ “Pizza!” _ Nick yells from upstairs.  _ “I can smell it, don’t you dare eat it without me!” _

_ “Liam wants to know if you brought pineapple pizza,” _ Ed yells from where Harry is now certain is the basement.

“I’m not a heathen, so no!” Andrew yells back. He once again hands Harry the pizzas. “It smells horrible in here, take these somewhere else before these two get their hands on them and leave the rest of us barren.”

“You have a way with words,” Harry says, feeling like an errand boy as he takes them back to the living room again.

— 

An hour into the game, nobody has scored and Harry minutes away from dropping off, even surrounded by cheering, groaning, yelling friends.

He’s claimed the end of the couch, next to Niall, Andrew and Niall. Ed’s in the wingback (his signature chair) with Batcat in his lap, although the poor thing tries to bolt whenever someone gets loud), Liam and Andy are in the loveseat, Nick is lounging on pillows pulled off the couch and Zayn is in the front room with the window cracked and his cigarette dangling between the panes - far enough away to be left in peace but close enough to still watch the game.

It’s too many people in a too small space but Harry’s lit a candle in every corner of the room so at least it smells relatively like  _ Summer Sun _ instead of Boy and Burning Chicken.

He’s not really paying attention to the game (football is… not his thing), so when the front door creaks open, he’s the only one who cranes his neck to try to see who it is.

Ah. Apparently Louis is coming over.

_ Stay calm, _ Harry’s brain tells Harry’s rabbiting heart.  _ Stay fucking calm you absolute traitor. _

“Hi Lou,” Harry calls as Louis puts one hand on Zayn’s shoulder and uses the other to rid himself of his boots. Zayn, who must have been the one to let him in, is looking at Louis with relative disinterest (the way he looks at everyone really). Louis is saying something to Zayn that Harry can’t  _ quite _ hear because apparently Derby is apparently somewhat close to the general area of the goal area again and everyone has started yelling.

Fuck everyone. Harry should not suffer this sort of injustice in his own home.

He watches as Louis straightens up and ruffles Zayn’s hair and then strides ( _ confidently, magnificently _ ) into the livingroom. “Hey Haz,” he says, taking a look around at the seating arrangements that have been made, getting a modest amount of hellos from the boys and jumping away from Nick who tries to pinch his ankle. “Looks like we’re a little short on seating. No matter.”

Harry watches as Louis grabs a slice of pizza (one of the last in the boxes) and admires his slim fingers, the way the bum looks in those leggings, the fact that he hasn’t seen Louis since the study party left his coffee shop four hours ago and yet somehow he’s become  _ more beautiful… _

And he watches as Louis takes two self-assured steps over, and plops himself down right on Harry’s feet.

“Um,” Harry says.

“Hey!” Niall complains.

“Excuse you,” Andrew says.

“This is not a five person couch,” Niall informs him.

“Well you all can budge over, because it is now,” Louis tells them all. He turns to Harry, who is trying not to move his feet too much, because this feels like when someone starts playing with your hair, but as soon as you acknowledge that they’re playing with your hair, then they stop. If he stays  _ completely still, _ maybe Louis will never leave.

“Right Harry?” Louis says, and suddenly he’s shimmying himself down between Harry and Niall and Harry was  _ not prepared for this, _ until Louis is wedged so thoroughly between them on the couch that Harry doesn’t think he could get up without accidentally sending Louis to the floor in the process.

He’s aware a moment later that Louis seems to be waiting for some sort of response from him. “Um. What?”

Louis rolls his eyes. “I  _ said, _ this is a five person couch now. Because at least  _ you _ don’t mind sharing with me, right?”

“Oh right,” Harry agrees weakly. “Of course.”

“That’s what I thought,” Louis says, and he reaches up and tugs Harry’s curls just once before turning to the television and taking a bite of the slice of pizza in his hand.

Harry’s skin tingles where that curl was tugged.

His side tingles where Louis is pressed up against him.

His feet are already going numb from Louis sitting on them, and he sort of wants to move them but there’s no way he can disturb Louis like that. It’s just not  _ done. _

He stares at the phone in his hand and opens Instagram again, scrolling blindly as another round of groans sound from Derby missing the kick.

— 

Apparently, at some point during the game Harry does actually doze off.

He knows that this has happened, because when he opens his eyes, the game is off, the lights are off, and the room looks deserted.

Oops.

He spies his phone on the floor in front of the couch and goes to reach for it, only to realise that his arm isn’t just buried under cushions and dirty clothes  the way it normally is when he falls asleep on the couch (Nick feels no remorse about covering people in shit for the hell of it if they fall asleep in common spaces). He glances over and then startles because the room is apparently  _ not _ empty - there’s a boy fast asleep and draped across Harry’s side.

A boy with feathery brown hair sticking up in all directions and a bit of scruff that’s tickling Harry’s arm now that he notices and a big blue jumper that’s engulfing him because said boy always complains about being cold-

Shit. Fuck. The boy is Louis Tomlinson.

Harry tries not to panic. After all, there’s nothing to panic about, right? Louis’s fallen asleep at his house countless times over the years. Harry’s also fallen asleep at Louis’s flat (although less frequently because it’s such a mess all the time that he rarely allows Harry over), and they’ve certainly taken road trips together to concerts that have ended with them napping at the venue before the concert starts because they got up at the arse crack of dawn to get there…

But then again, all of that was before Harry finally got around to admitting to himself that he had a big fat fucking crush on Louis. And now every move he makes feels like he’s blaring signals like a foghorn in the night of  _ I love you _ and  _ I want to make you dinner _ and  _ I want to spend the rest of my life doing your laundry and waking up to your horrible morning breath and kissing your nose on cold mornings to make you giggle like I know you do. _

So. It’s significantly easier to freak out about this now.

He can’t reach his phone because he’d disturb Louis. He can’t really move at all, honestly. Louis seems to have stretched out across the couch, his feet tucked between the cushions on the far end and upper half resting against Harry’s side, one arm draped across Harry's torso.

Okay so, this is a problem. Harry is pretty sure he can't escape this situation without waking Louis up. Louis is grumpy when he wakes up, Harry's been around grumpy morning Louis one too many times to want to experience it again (he always apologizes when he says something mean, and Harry could never hold it against him, but grumpy Louis can be a little hurtful just because he doesn’t think things through before he says them.

Plus, Harry knows he can’t lie for shit and the closer Louis is the more likely Harry is to let something stupid slip past his brain to mouth filter like  _ you’re warm I hope you don’t mind but please stay here forever. _

So. There’s only one thing to do, right?

Go back to sleep and pretend this never happened.

It’s easier said than done, of course, because Louis is soft and warm and a solid weight against Harry’s side. He feels sleepy but also wide awake. The house smells like burnt chicken, pizza, and candles and if he listens carefully he can hear Liam snoring upstairs. It feels like a long time before he drifts off but really it could only be a moment.

He sleeps deeply.

— 

Work the next morning is the opening shift, which is absolutely unfair in every shape or form, as Harry’s manager has  _ promised _ that she’s going to stop giving him clopeners. 

When his phone goes off in the morning, Harry stretches to grab it and turn it off before remembering where he is, and that his phone is on the floor instead of on his bedside table. He notices as he makes a grab for it that there’s no longer a boy asleep against his side - also that his phone has four percent battery left and it’s only by the grace of God that the alarm has gone off at all. 

It’s a sleepy early morning and none of his roommate stir as he goes about his daily routine (even when he accidentally runs into Niall’s feet, because the boy constantly sleeps with his feet hanging off the bed), and he thinks (as he often does) about purposefully setting off the fire alarms if only to make them all suffer along with him.

He feels the morning air hit his face with a bite as he leaves the house, stopping only to give Batcat (the only one awake to share his morning sorrows) a hearty breakfast of cat food and leftover eggs from his breakfast. She’ll follow him down the street if he doesn’t feed her, so he’s always sure to have  _ something _ around she can eat.

The walk to work is taken up by his carefully curated  _ Winter Tunes _ playlist. It feels an appropriate title as he watches his breath mist as he walks, already thinking longingly of the couch he had slept on and the fact that it was located just about a heating vent. He’s donned his bulkiest pair of headphones because they double as earmuffs, so the coldest part of him by far is his nose. It’s incentive to walk fast; the sooner he gets to work, the sooner he’ll be able to feel his nose again.

That being said, even with the best of _ Imagine Dragons _ filtering through his ears, he can’t help but dwell on last night. Waking up in the darkness, finding Louis on top of him… Well, it seems suspicious. It’s the sort of thing he’d dream about, Harry is certain, and as Louis apparently left in the early hours of the morning (the  _ ridiculously _ early hours), it’s starting to feel as if perhaps it was more dream than reality. For one thing, Louis doesn’t wake up early. Ever. He’s notorious for never taking a morning class because there’s no way he’d make it to anything earlier than noon. For another, why wouldn’t any of his other roommates have kicked Louis out at the end of the night? Generally they would at least wake him up to offer him the drunk mattress in the attic (the one reserved for any friends over who have had a bit too much to drink to be heading home on their own). 

Sure, Harry wouldn’t have been able to bring himself to disturb Louis, but his roommates were much more heartless.

So maybe it was a dream. Maybe Harry is so head-over-heels that his mind has started creating these absolutely painful scenarios because it knows he’s never going to actually experience them.

It’s a bit of a depressing thought but he has to be a realist, right?

Right.

— 

Work is weird.

First of all, Harry is the first person there, which is both weird and  _ cruel _ because it is  _ freezing _ outside and the overcast skies are teasing snow but Harry knows it won’t happen.

Second of all, when his manager Anitra  _ does _ finally appear with keys and an apology, she spends all morning rambling about how she was up late studying fountains and children’s books. It’s nice, because it takes Harry’s mind off of the  _ Louis situation _ but as they’re rushing to open on time he finds himself picturing the more outlandish fountains that she’s describing, and wondering if they’re as blue as Louis’s eyes…

Then of course he has to mentally slap himself because that’s too cheesy even for  _ him. _ God, he’s a mess.

So the morning starts out weird and rushed, and then it only gets weirder because ten minutes after opening, at eight ten, Louis walks through the door.

Louis should not be here so early in the morning, that’s  _ unnatural. _ He shouldn’t be  _ awake. _ He looks beautiful and soft and he’s got that lovely blue jumper on underneath his pea coat, but he also looks tired and cold and Harry would like to make him go home and go straight back to sleep.

There’s a line at the counter that Harry is slowly working through; mostly businesswomen in need of their morning fair-trade espresso, and a few art students on their way to class. It’s a good thing that Fox in the Snow doesn’t have a drive-through, because Harry’s pretty sure they would get more business than they could handle.

When Louis finally appears at the front of the line, he smiles up at Harry and slaps a note on the table. “Coffee  _ and _ tea,” he says in a voice that makes it sound like he’s expecting a challenge.

“In the same cup?” Harry asks, and Louis gives him an exasperated look but it  _ is _ the sort of thing Louis would ask for.

“One of each,” Louis says. “Plain. Black. No sugar.”

“I’ll give you black tea,” Harry says, pushing the five pound note back at Louis. “And I’ll make you some pour-over coffee, but only a small cup of each. For here or to go?”

“Here,” Louis says. “Make them mediums.”

“Medium tea, small coffee. Why are you here so early?”

“You’re on my shit list until I get larges of each” Louis says as he pockets his money again. “I’m here because I need my morning fix! Now hop to it before I force you to take payment.”

Harry rolls his eyes and tries his hardest to suppress his smile (which doesn’t work  _ at all) _ as he puts in Louis’s order (of two smalls) before shooing him off so Harry can deal with the next customer.

When the line finally starts to trickle to to a crawl, meaning morning rush is about over, Harry takes a look around the room and spots Louis sitting in the back corner under the laughably fake plant. He’s curled into a chair with only the two cups in front of him. He looks exhausted. Harry feels concerned. 

He knows Louis started making his study group meet here because he got free coffee from Harry whenever he was working, but Louis rarely shows up on his own unless it’s cold enough that Harry has been texting around for a ride. For him to be here on his own first thing in the morning is unnatural and weird and Harry wants to go over and ask him what’s happened.

But Harry’s not off until noon, and it’s only nine, and those three hours seem like an eternity.

— 

At ten Harry is putting the coffee grinder through a rinse cycle when he looks up and finds Zayn at the counter.

Zayn’s not exactly a regular here. In fact, Harry isn’t sure he’s  _ ever _ seen him here before.

“Hey Haz,” Zayn greets as he stares over Harry’s head at the chalkboard menu.  “Can I get a fucking… um, iced americano?”

“You watching your figure?” Harry jokes. Zayn gives him a blank stare. Typical Zayn.

“Two ten,” Harry says when the silence becomes too uncomfortable.  Zayn hands over his card and as Harry is ringing it up, he tries again. “So what are you doing here? It’s not your usual establishment.”

Zayn shrugs as he takes his card back. “It was requested.” 

“Um… right,” Harry has no idea what that means.

Zayn pockets his card and walks away.

What the fuck.

Zayn’s not the most social of people on a good day. He shares a room with Liam, and Liam probably sees him about ten times more than anyone else in the house. Harry’s not even sure what Zayn does when he’s not at home.

A few people have lined up behind Zayn, and Harry manages to lose him in the crowd while taking their orders. He only finds him again when his co-worker calls “iced americano!” and Zayn temporarily re-materialises. 

Harry watches as he grabs the drink and makes his way back through the tables, heading toward a corner. Specifically, the corner Louis is sitting in. Specifically, taking a seat next to Louis.

Okay so, the day certainly hasn’t gotten less weird. It’s just that now Louis and Zayn seem to be having some sort of super serious meeting in his coffee shop. And Harry  _ still _ can’t eavesdrop!

They’ve got their heads bent close together, and Harry is horrible at reading lips but he tries so hard that it comes as a shock when Louis suddenly glances up and right to where Harry is standing.

It’s hard to suddenly look like you’re busy when you’ve just been staring at someone.

He spends a few minutes pretending to be very intent on cleaning the till, and the next time he looks up Louis isn’t looking at him anymore. Thank God.

Harry helps out a few more customers, and once in a while he sees Louis or Zayn glancing up at him. He really  _ really _ wants to know what they’re talking about.

— 

Half an hour later, Harry has taken to sneaking frequent looks at Louis because even though he does look small and tired he also looks absolutely beautiful and Harry has a strong desire to feed him muffins. His pining is interrupted, however, by Nick suddenly appearing as the next in line.

(Which means Harry really is distracted, because Nick is tall enough he shouldn’t be able to  _ suddenly _ appear anywhere).

“Young Harold!” Nick says, his voice filling the room.

“Hey Nick, you out of work early?” Nick is always complaining about working long hours, even though he clearly enjoys his job as the school radio DJ.

“Just popped in for a lunch break, Fi is covering,” Nick flaps his hand dismissively. “What can you recommend? I need a pick-me-up.”

“Dirty chai,” Harry says instantly. “It’s fancy enough even your tastebuds should like it, but still full of caffeine.”

“I’ll take it,” Nick hands over his card. “Can you put whipped cream on that?”

“Louis is a bad influence on you,” Harry says. “We don’t have whipped cream.”

“Nonsense,” says Nick.

Harry looks up at him, startled. “Nonsense? I- I wouldn’t  _ lie _ about that!”

“No, no. Nonsense that Louis is a bad influence on me. If anything  _ I _ influenced  _ him _ on the whipped cream.”

_ “What are you saying?” _ comes Louis’s shrill voice from across the room (which means Louis can hear  _ them _ just fine and that’s just not  _ fair). _

Nick twiddles his fingers at Harry before he takes his card back and makes his way over to Louis and Zayn, yelling something or other about “Don’t be ridiculous,” and “You love me, really.”

So then there’s  _ three _ of them, all crowded around a little one-person table that one of them must have pulled up to their chairs, and Harry is starting to get nervous. There’s just as much huddled conversing and Nick’s boisterous voice although he’s clearly  _ trying _ to be quieter, and now  _ all three of them keep looking at him. _

All the while Harry has to keep taking orders, making drinks, pretending to be busy.

What on earth is going on? Nothing feels real. Last night, if it happened, certainly didn’t feel real and now whatever is happening now feels like some weird half-nightmare, like when you dream about walking in on all the kids at school gossiping behind your back, only this time he’s at university and all the kids show up to his coffeeshop.

Except Nick and Zayn are his roommates, they wouldn’t do that. And Louis wouldn’t do that, they’ve been best friends since their first day at Orientation when they met in the school toilets. Louis is Louis. Harry would trust him before anyone else.

He’s got less than an hour left in his shift when Niall and Liam appear in his line.

“What the fuck,” says Harry. 

“Hiya Harry,” Niall says.

“Hey.” Liam waves.

“What are you doing here?” Harry asks, feeling like this must be a prank.

“Just felt like having a little get-together,” Liam says and Niall nearly snaps his neck with how fast he turns to look at Liam, a frown on his face.

Bless Niall. He can’t lie for anything.

“Why are you  _ really _ here, Niall?” Harry asks, leaning over the counter at him.

“Um, like Liam said,” Niall tears his eyes away from Liam’s face. “A get-together. You know.”

“Uh- _ huh.” _ Harry says, disbelieving. “Okay. Sure. What can I get you two for your ‘get-together’?”

“Oh, I can’t have caffeine,” Liam says. “Kidney, you know. Can you do decaf coffee?”

“And a cascara cider!” Niall adds on. “Liam’s paying.”

“What?” Liam squawks.

“Six seventy, Liam,” Harry says, and holds out his hand expectantly. Liam makes another disbelieving sound at Niall but eventually hands over a tenner.

“Keep the tip,” Niall says.

“No, do  _ not _ keep the tip that’s my food budget for the week!”

Harry rolls his eyes and hands back the change. “Your drinks will be right up.”

He’s expecting it, at this point, when Niall and Liam join Nick, Zayn and Louis in the corner. He’s given up pretending he’s not staring at them at this point, since whatever they’re talking about clearly includes him. Whenever Louis looks up at him, Harry still can’t help but duck down a bit, avert his eyes as he feels his cheeks heat up, but when other people look up Harry stares right back, challenging them to  _ please _ tell him what’s going on. Nick grins back at him. Zayn looks blankly on. Liam looks a little embarrassed and Niall, well, Harry isn’t sure exactly what kind of look Niall is pulling but he does seem to be happy by whatever’s going on.

Fine. It’s probably a prank. Louis loves pranks, and in the past Harry has always been his partner-in-crime, the one he confides all his horrible deeds in, but that has to change at some point. Whatever it is, it’s clearly going to be horrible, considering the amount of people who are in on it.

When Anitra finally tells him that he’s off the clock, Harry dashes to the back to throw off his apron. He’s so ready to get out of here. 

He grabs his coat and his bag from the break room, and seriously considers whether it’s better to slip out the back like he normally would or to go out through the main area and stop by Louis and his group just to see what they say.

He decides it’s easiest to slip out the back. He’s been too flustered all day by whatever’s going on, and he’s already always flustered in front of Louis these days, so he would probably make an utter fool of himself. Better to try to interrogate everyone at home about what Louis wanted (since Louis seemed to involve most of Harry’s own roommates in whatever this is).

He throws his bag over his shoulder and pushes open the door at the back of the break room, steeling himself for the biting wind he’s sure he’s about to be hit with.

He’s not hit with a biting wind. In fact, it’s more of a general chill. But he also finds, to his shock and amazement, that it’s  _ snowing. _

It must have only just started, because he never noticed while he was inside, but the flakes are thick and heavy and already feel like they’re silencing the world around him.

Maybe that’s why he initially doesn’t notice that Louis is standing right there on the other side of the door.

“Hey Hazza,” Louis says, wrapping a thick scarf around himself as he speaks. “I thought you might go out this way, try to make a break for it.”

Harry draws himself up a little, affronted with the notion that he was running away.

(he was).

There are flakes sticking to Louis’s lashes already, and they’re dusting his hair like powdered sugar.

“Yeah, of course you were running away,” Louis says, even though Harry never actually denied the accusation. “I know you too well. But also not well enough. You see Haz, I think you’ve been  _ hiding something _ from me.”

Harry’s eyes grow wide. He can’t help it. He knows he’s terribly obvious about his feelings but he honestly never thought Louis caught on! He wonders if he could outrun Louis, if it came to that.

“Anyway, that’s not what I wanted to talk about,” Louis says and Harry wants to breathe a breath of relief, but he’s not sure if he can breathe at all.

“What I wanted to talk about, is that I think I’m hiding the same secret.”

_ What? _

“You see, dear Harold, you and I both know that I’m a bit of an idiot sometimes, when it comes to my feelings.”

“That’s not true,” Harry manages to say, speaking up for the first time since he walked through the door.

“It certainly is. You were there for my breakup with Devon, you knew for months before I did that I needed to break it off.”

“Well that was sort of a special circumstance-”

“So of course, it would make sense that you would realise these mutual feelings long before I did.”

“These-”

“And of course, I needed to confirm these feelings. After all, I’m not just going to walk all higgelty piggelty into the jaws of a lion before first checking with the other members of the pride that the lion likes me back.”

“You’re not even trying to make that metaphor make sense.”

“Humor me, Lion. Now, I only have one question for you.”

Harry nods, eyes wide.

“How long was it between when you started liking me and my idiot brain finally figuring it out?”

“Um,” Harry says weakly. “Six months?”

Louis makes a noise of disgust and Harry wants to curl up inside his coat and never come out again.

“So you’re telling me I could have spent the last six months kissing you and I didn’t even know it?”

Harry stares at him.

“Come on, Hazza, I can’t kiss you unless you tell me I’m allowed.”

“Allowed?” asks Harry, his voice breaking. “I- yes. You’re allowed. To kiss me.”

“Good,” Louis says, and his arms are instantly wound around Harry’s shoulders, drawing him down, and Harry is  _ freezing _ and it’s still snowing, the flakes beginning to flurry around them, but Louis’s lips are warm and chapped in a way that Harry must admit he really appreciates because he can feel it, the way Louis’s lips move against his own in a way he was sure he would never get to experience.

Harry eventually breaks away, and Louis makes a noise of protest that Harry wants to give into immediately, but he chokes out, “How did you know?”

“When I woke up,” Louis responds. “At three in the morning in your arms, and realised it was the perfect place to be. Then of course I wondered why the hell no one else in the house had woken me up and made me go sleep on the drunk bed. So I asked around. Turns out I was the last person to know, and I’m going to make you pay for that.”

“Pay for that like more kisses?” Harry asks hopefully. “Or pay for that like hiding all my charger cables.”

Louis makes a noise of contemplation. “Depends on how much you’re willing to kiss,” he says, before leaning up to attach their lips again.

Harry can’t feel his fingers. But in this moment there are more important things.

**Author's Note:**

> Reblog the [fic post](http://londonfoginacup.tumblr.com/post/163175875984/coming-home-through-the-dark-to-you) if you liked it! And come drop me a note at [Londonfoginacup](http://londonfoginacup.tumblr.com) on tumblr!


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